


I Don't Believe We've Met

by ConflictingOpinions



Series: Tall [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Especially John's, Mildly Cracky, Sam was a shorty, but he isn't anymore, everyone's reactions are mildly amusing, mildly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConflictingOpinions/pseuds/ConflictingOpinions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam was still short when he left for Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Believe We've Met

**Author's Note:**

> So I fudged the events and dialogue more than a little. I hope this brings amusement to you all. Enjoy! :)

Sam was leaving. For good. He just couldn't stand the life anymore. He wanted to go to Stanford, and he was going to, God dammit. Of course, that hadn't blown over too well with his dad. Or Dean, for that matter. Sam knew why they were so upset, he did. They had every reason not to be happy with him, but he figured it was time for him to choose what to do with his life.

He was currently in the process of storming around the motel room, picking up his few possessions. If he wasn't allowed to come back, he wasn't leaving anything behind. The whole effect was ruined when he realized his second bag was on topmost shelf of the closet. Crap.

“Dean,” Sam called, and Dean looked up, “Could you grab my bag?” Sam didn't bother tacking a “please” on the end of that. He was angry, he was leaving, this was ridiculous. He was eight-frickin'-teen, and he still couldn't reach the top shelf. His life was a comedy. Only this wasn't funny. Like, at all.

Dean's laughter was not helping the matter. He must have found this hilarious.

He did. He really, really did. This was just too good. The shrimp couldn't even grab his own bag. How was he going to live on his own if he couldn't even reach the top shelf? The bottom two shelves and the bottom cabinets would be packed, and everything else would be untouched. Sam would probably have to invest in a step-stool. At least until he got a girlfriend. Which was unlikely, given that most women aren't interested in shorter men.

Dean was laughing his ass off. Sam was not amused. “Dean, just get the bag.”

“Or what, short-stack?”

“You do realize that I'm at the perfect level to punch you in the crotch, right?”

Dean grabbed Sam's bag.

Sam took it, gave the typical Winchester goodbye (basically a nod), and walked out the door. He didn't bother saying goodbye to his dad. John clearly didn't want to speak to him. Figures. None of them were very good at using their words outside of shouting at each other.

~o0o~

It had been four years since Dean had seen his brother. A lot can happen in four years, if “a lot” means their dad disappearing without a trace right after finding a lead on the thing that killed their mom. Which it did here. To be honest, Dean had been waiting for a viable excuse to visit Sam the whole time. Would've been nice for it to be on a lighter note, but that's being a Winchester for you.

It had taken him a while to find Sam, but Dean had finally found him, after several false leads at community colleges. He knew his brother was damn smart, but he honestly hadn't been expecting to find the kid at fricking _Stanford_. And yet here he was, breaking into his brother's apartment just outside the campus in the dead of night.

Or he had been, at least, until what Dean was pretty sure was a rabid moose tried to knock him out. Clearly, this was the wrong place. “Whoa, look, sorry man,” Dean said, holding his hands up in surrender, “I accidentally left my keys inside, so I climbed through the window and I got the wrong apartment, alright? I'll leave, like, right now.” Jesus this guy was big. He was pretty damn scary even without the baseball bat, and could probably throw Dean across the room like he was nothing.

“That's bull, Dean, and you know it. What are you doing here?”

Wait, what?

Oh no. Hell no. There was no effing way this musclebound giant was his short, scrawny-ass little brother. That was not possible. But Dean would recognize that bitchy little voice anywhere. Sam looked down – _down_ – at him expectantly.

“You're a pretty late bloomer, huh Sammy?” Dean laughed weakly.

“Cut the crap Dean. What's going on?”

And then, of course, Sam's unreasonably hot girlfriend walked in. Great. Just great. Sam had a girlfriend. Who was living with him. Because women love tall guys. And Sam had gotten tall. Really. Freaking. Tall. Dean was ready for the universe to stop screwing him over now. Immediately. Please. No, really. Make it stop.

~o0o~

John Winchester hated Chicago. Actually, he hated big cities in general. He preferred to hunt in the small towns. Fewer suspects, fewer fatalities, fewer people that would see him. But some bad shit was going down in Chicago, and Sam and Dean where caught smack in the middle of it. He might not have been a contender for Dad of the Year, but he sure as hell wasn't letting his sons die.

John was still a little bewildered by the fact that Sam had started hunting again. After all that fighting to have a normal life, why would he dive straight back into the one he hated? In the end it didn't matter though, and John had tracked his boys down. They were gonna need a crapload of help.

He was currently waiting in the boys' motel room, which was empty, save for their duffel bags. Sam's was sitting rather conspicuously on the floor. John smirked a little at that. Sam still couldn't reach the top shelf, it would seem. He was pretty sure he'd seen his youngest son in the library, but he hadn't approached him. He was glad he hadn't, though, because when the man he'd thought was his son stood up, he turned out to be about the size of the Hulk.

The motel room door creaked open, and John looked up. “Dean!” he said. He frowned a bit when he saw the man from the library following his son. Dean hadn't told him that he and Sammy had found someone to help them. Now where was Sam, anyway? John peered around the room as he caught Dean in a hug. He turned to the tall man.

John had no idea why he'd thought this man was his youngest. He was far too tall, way too muscular. The only similarity the two had that John could tell was their coloring. But where was Sammy? Maybe at the library?

“Hey,” John said, sticking a hand out, “I don't think we've met. I'm John Winchester.” The man didn't take his hand, opting to look down at him incredulously.

“Yeah, Dad, I know your name.” Jesus, the voice was wrong, too...Wait. Wait. _Dad_? Had this friggin' gigantic man just called him _Dad_? John vaguely wondered if he should pick his jaw up off of the floor. The man – _Sam_ , this guy was _Sam_ – stood there, staring at John with a slightly worried expression, one eyebrow raised. He was clearly uncomfortable, but John couldn't make himself stop staring.

The last time John had seen his youngest son was just a little over four years ago, and Sam was just barely even with John's nose. And now he was...Shit. What the actual...? _When_? _How_? For a brief moment, the word “steroids” crossed John's mind, but no. Sam had always been a bit of a goody-goody, so why would he take drugs?

Dean slapped John's shoulder in what passed for a comforting manner amongst the Winchesters. “I know Dad,” he said, “Sammy got big. But he'd probably like you to stop looking at him funny right around now.”

~o0o~

“Christ on a crutch boy, what've you been _eating_?”

Bobby Singer had been reasonably surprised when Sam walked through his front door. Dean had told him Sam had grown, but this was ridiculous. If he hadn't known both of the boys were coming, he wouldn't have recognized Sam in the slightest. Sam doubled over in laughter at his pseudo-uncle's reaction while Dean wore a decidedly unhappy expression.

“Better,” Sam replied when his laughter finally subsided, “I've been eating better.” Bobby wondered how Sam would take it if he was asked to sit the hell down so Bobby could feel at least a little authoritative again. It was hard to feel in charge when the people you were barking orders at were scraping their heads against your ceiling. Luckily, Sam had plunked himself down on one of the room's sturdier looking chairs before Bobby had opened his mouth.

Bobby could tell Dean was trying not to laugh when Sam had to swing his legs out to the side because he couldn't fit them under the table. He smacked the eldest Winchester on the back of his head. “Get to work, idjits,” Bobby said, “This demon's bad enough news as it is, but now he's got the Colt. If you wanna get your dad back, you're gonna have to have a game plan.”

Silence filled Bobby's living room as he and the Winchesters pored over every book they could find on demons. It was looking to be an all-nighter. Oh well. It wasn't like they hadn't done one of those before. A few hours in, Bobby begrudgingly grabbed his old kitchen stool to reach the top shelf. He ignored Sam's offer to grab the book for him.

No way in hell was he going to ask the boy to grab something he shouldn't be able to reach.

 


End file.
